Learning To Live Again...
by Lancynth
Summary: *Minor editing* Pre-EW, my version of the aftermath of the series. Follows 6x9 a bit, other viewpoints often included, some other pairings hinted at, but not one kiss, only mild swearing and sap and some sarcasm/irony/humor. Read if you like!
1. In The End...

*********Learning To live Again…*********  
  
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Disclaimer: I own nil. So there. Even suing me won't get you anything. Go talk to Bansai and Sunrise or whoever really owns this stuff. Any similarities with stuff others wrote in their fanfics are likely coincidental or just great minds thinking alike. Anything original—well, it's original, so leave it alone.  
  
WARNINGS—6x9, 1xR, 2xH, 13x11, possibly hints of 3x4, but this won't go too far into the sexual relationships. More into friendships. You'll be lucky to see a kiss anywhere—I don't intend any. If it's your cup of tea, fine and good, and glad you like it. If not, go find your own cup of tea—it's obviously elsewhere. I'm not holding a gun to your head to make you read this.  
  
Flames will be ignored. So will most comments, unless they've some point to them.  
  
Synopsis: It's after the destruction of Libra, answering questions left in the dark between the TV series and Endless Waltz, focusing on what happened to Zechs, but with a fair bit on the rest, too. Viewpoints thus change throughout the tale, but it's 3rd person. Yeah, it's been done. But I don't care. The other versions still left me with lots of questions, so here's my version.  
  
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---Chapter 1---  
  
---In The End…---  
  
---Christmas Eve, AC 196---  
  
"We'll meet again…"  
  
And with those words, the stubborn core of the Libra finally surrendered its life in a ball of gundanium-melting fire, heat, and gas, like a dying sun. One'd almost expect the explosion to have a sound—but in space, if nobody can hear you scream, they certainly can't hear you blow up in smithereens, either. They might hear you go "splat!" however, and that's what Heero could hear—molten metal and flying bits impacting Wing Zero as the blast flung him backwards down one of the many corridors he and Zechs had battled through only minutes before. He could barely hear himself yell over the sounds of debris impacting his suit, as they echoed so loudly in the cockpit. Didn't matter, though. Yelling would make no difference.  
  
Heero didn't bother formulating his emotions into a coherent thought—he was too full of frustration and anger and sorrow and desperation (with a hint of gratitude), too annoyed to put it to words even just in his mind and too pressed for time to sort them out at this moment.  
  
The world of metal around him was collapsing, frying out of existence in a sweeping inferno fueled by stored gases and space-fuel meeting with the intense heat of a dying dream. Yet amid the near-constant ping and splatter of mechanical death-throes around him, and a swirl of static from damaged antennae, he thought he heard… He thought he heard…  
  
A whisper? It seemed one, amid the chaos of light and heat and noise only Heero could hear.  
  
"…I'm sorry…"  
  
//Zechs?// Heero slapped a button or two—Zero's controls were instinct to him by now and instincts are simply never reported in a step-by-step manner—but any signal of the Epyon was gone, and any attempt to hear anything in the area was mere empty static… Dead air.  
  
The blast nearly flung Zero outside the remainder of the Libra even as the battleship was being reduced to metallic Swiss cheese, the center having the biggest holes. Hitting a bulkhead and realizing that Wing Zero was still in one piece despite this impact immediately worried Heero.  
  
//Damn… Not good enough! Why won't this damn thing DIE?// he mentally cursed, hauling on the controls to wriggle Zero out past twisted and half- melted walls, back towards open space so he could assess the situation. //Zechs, seems you saved me the bother of dying for nothing… by taking it on yourself. What am I going to say to Relena now? Hell, what do I tell Noin? Damn damn DAMN! What else can go wrong?//  
  
//Bad thing to say—worse to THINK, Heero,// he answered himself a moment later.  
  
One of the other Gundam pilots was yelling that practically a fourth of the blasted Libra was still going to crash into Earth.  
  
Heero was starting to hate Christmas.  
  
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A flash of intense heat, fire, flame—things seemed to move in slowed motion, as if time decided to extend the horror and upcoming pain… just out of spite.  
  
//Zechs, meet Dante's Inferno,// the back of his mind muttered irrationally but calmly, as if in placid introduction to the exponentially-increasing bonfire. The rest of his mind resignedly sighed, expecting this was going to hurt like hell.  
  
//Oh hell…// The irony of both the curse and the looming death before his eyes did not escape him. It seemed strangely fitting to him, actually, in a morbid and resigned sort of way.  
  
"I'm sorry…" The words broke free out of the blue in a faint whisper before he could even decide exactly what and to whom he was offering that apology—not that anyone could possibly hear it now. On the monitors, he could see parts of Epyon's exterior melting like an astonished candle. The antennae, the communications gear? They were the first to go, and vanished in less than a blink, vaporized from existence.  
  
//Oh hell…//  
  
Hell indeed. More than a second's worth of such heat was too much, even for the monitors. He was never certain exactly what happened first in the seconds after that—whether the glass from the screens shattered first or the boards and controls and consoles followed in a mass of sparks and crackling electricity, or did the whole cockpit twist and crumple like an abused sardine can before that? Perhaps the whiplash-like jolting was first, as the Epyon impacted walls and debris impacted the Epyon. It was probably all at the same time. It certainly seemed like it. Not that it mattered.  
  
Zechs was too busy screaming at the time to care. Some irrational part of his mind noted that even if /he/ wasn't dying, his voice certainly was—it wasn't likely to last as long as the pain, and certainly wasn't doing an adequate job of voicing that pain!  
  
Then…  
  
Blackness, darkness, like an enfolding blanket flung over his head and hauling him swiftly down towards oblivion. And for the first time in years, Zechs actually prayed.  
  
//If there's a merciful God out there: let it end…//  
  
Darkness. Silence. Nothingness. Like space, only no stars, no feeling, no existence, perhaps. Oblivion—the eternal rest—he'd glimpsed it in deep dreams and now he prayed for it. He'd granted it often enough to others. "Ye who lives by the sword shall die by the sword," the saying went. Time for a higher power to reciprocate. To bring justice. The timing was appropriate.  
  
//Let ME end…//  
  
It was Christmas Eve, after all. Even he could hope for a miracle. If his soul was beyond saving, that was fine—but he was tired, tired, so tired. Heero had denied him a chance to go down as Treize did, with honor, in battle, at the hands of someone worthy. But he no longer cared how he reached it. Death, /his/ death, was his due—even a necessity.  
  
Even if it hurt like the dickens.  
  
//For /good/ this time…!//  
  
He'd survived too often. Death had missed that final swing of the scythe too many times. Zechs was sick of it, worn out, feeling stretched too thin over borrowed time. The final job was done, the last mission over, the purpose for living finished, even all his names were used up (and then some). Nothing remained. Time to close the book. He /wanted/ that higher power to finally close the damn book!  
  
Time to end.  
  
The prayer was short, sweet, to the point, and lasted as long as a burst of thought.  
  
Then it seemed to be granted.  
  
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Duo grinned broadly as he looked out the window of the resource satellite where Quatre was recovering, looking out at the stars and the Earth, all seeming to gleam especially on this night. Not that space looked too much different during the "day": the sun would just peek out from around a colony with blinding brightness, perhaps even be eclipsed by the Earth, or the moon. But tonight… Things seemed to twinkle more.  
  
As if God were trying to ease the sorrow of all the deaths that night. Or make up for all the pain. Or… because it was a special night, Christmas Eve, for all it was almost over.  
  
Duo reached out and rested a hand on the glass, still grinning, though his eyes were suspiciously damp. "Hey Old Man, what do you know…? Your God of Death's still here. Another Christmas… Going on infinity yet? Well, Happy Birthday anyway," he offered softly to the only entity that could hear, voice amused and yet wistful, sad. "Sorry 'bout the presents. Did the best I could, though. I hope that counts… It'd better, and not just for my sake. But they say that it's the thought that counts, hm?"  
  
With tired fingers, Deathscythe's pilot traced the outline of the Earth, grin fading to a worn, weary smile. "Hey, at least it's over. With luck, for good… And that's the best Christmas present of all…"  
  
Eyes so blue they were almost violet brightened mischievously. "After all, now I can sleep in on weekends!" //Rather than go blow things up,// he added with a silent laugh.  
  
A faint flash caught his eyes, though, at that moment. The smile faded on both Duo's face and in his eyes, bleached out by the glimpse of Libra's debris flaring now and then as chunks hit the Earth's atmosphere and vaporized. Silent, sad fireworks.  
  
//There'll be bigger ones later, when bigger chunks hit the heat,// Duo mused grimly. //I suppose Lady Une's getting folks organized this minute to go start cleaning the most dangerous of that up, so it doesn't come down on people's heads. But they won't get it all. They can't. Too much to haul, even if you've years and an army of salvage-crews. Hell, where do you even start? Looks like someone opened a can of mixed parts and scattered them in zero-G—it's floated all over the place, practically forming its own asteroid belt.//  
  
A sly idea dawned on him, and his bright eyes narrowed with mischief. //But the pickings'll be damn good. If I act now, I could get myself in a position for a fair penny. Time to find someone about salvage rights!//  
  
Sure, it'd be hard work, but it'd be familiar stuff, almost fun, reminiscent of old times. Hilde'd probably be willing to team in, maybe Heero too. And it'd be something to do—a place to start.  
  
//The dawn of a new life…// But the poetic moment passed. //I can take business classes on the side and get myself started up good.//  
  
With a pat on the glass, as if patting the shoulder of a friend, Duo Maxwell turned from the window to hunt down a console—or, if necessary, some means of transport. "Thanks Old Man—knew you'd pull through and not leave your old buddy Death hanging for something to do. Let's see what I can make of it, hmm?"  
  
And so he set off to start hunting the correct authorities for staking a salvage claim.  
  
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Noin couldn't help it—the tears wouldn't stop whenever she looked out her room's window. They just wouldn't! //Damn it! Damn them! Damn /him/! Damn… everyone… Or maybe I'm the worst damnned… I don't even know who I'm damning anymore…//  
  
They'd been trickling since she saw Zero leave Libra alone after the explosion, that much she knew. Silent, wet—she hadn't noticed they'd been unable to stop until she found herself standing in the hangar, looking out at the stars, and Sally came up to her to give her a handkerchief. Then Sally left, and she was alone to her thoughts and memories.  
  
She didn't want them. Not now. Maybe later, but definitely not right now. Her heart felt numb. Her mind was a gibbering mess. //He's dead… No, he has to be alive. He can't be. Does it even matter? Is the war really over? Or will another start? Why should I even care? I'm tired… So tired. He was tired, too… We all were… I still am. Maybe the rest are, too… I don't understand anymore… I'm not sure I care if I do or not. I'm not sure if I care about anything at all…//  
  
//So tired.//  
  
What her mind rallied behind was an image she didn't feel was appropriate, yet for some strange reason, felt right: Heero, after the battle, after getting out of Zero, turning to look at her, and slowly shaking his head, eyes flicking away—a negative sign, an apology of sorts. Not a word—just that.  
  
//Note to self—do NOT ask Heero to do an epitaph for Zech's funeral.//  
  
The thought was so irrelevant, yet hit her so suddenly, she laughed through the tears. And, somehow, that irrational thought led to others. She could just imagine her old friends in OZ, including Zechs, offering some sarcastic comments about the upcoming arrangements… though pretty much every one of them were dead now.  
  
//Definitely don't ask Wufei to say a few words at Treize's. Or allow him to offer condolences to Lady Une. /Anything/ to keep him from calling her "Onna!" to her face! We'd have another war if that happened!  
  
Definitely have catering if inviting Duo. I swear, he must be storing up in his Gundam…  
  
If asking Trowa to say anything, request a word minimum.  
  
I hope to God that Relena does NOT wear pink at either funeral. Don't let Dorothy, either! In fact, if there's anything pink that appears at either one, /burn it/.  
  
Search invitees at the doors for guns and other weaponry… or worse, bombs. Hell, the graves will need surveillance. Or to be somewhere remote. Antarctica, maybe?  
  
Oh hell… who am I kidding?  
  
What's left to bury? The mobile suits?  
  
What's left to bury of /them/ even…?  
  
What's left to bury of the pilots…?//  
  
That last thought echoed quietly in her head, and that was it—the real floodgates must have been waiting for this moment. Noin didn't know who she was crying more for, or why. Zechs' soul? Treize's pointless duel? Lady Une? She was certainly devastated, too. The lost soldiers of both sides? Their families? She could feel for them—she remembered the students Wufei blasted to bits at Lake Victoria. Herself? What did she have left?  
  
Abruptly, a hand rested on her shoulder, offering a quiet squeeze, and a familiar, quiet voice added gently, "You look worn out, Noin. I seem to be giving this prescription out a lot tonight… Take two hugs and call me in the morning, ne?"  
  
Noin forced a broken smile through her tears and turned her head to look at Sally, feeling sheepish, almost apologetic. "I must be the only one in the universe crying for him, right now." The words slipped out despite her wish otherwise, their tone clipped, full of self-ridicule, yet also despairing.  
  
Sally's head tilted toward the view of the stars, and her dark eyes considered that a moment. "Maybe… Maybe not. There's Relena… Surely a few others. Maybe none who knew him like you did, but still…"  
  
That was… well, it was something. Relena… no, she hardly knew him—his fault, of course. Pagan, probably. Anyone else… was already dead.  
  
//Kind of hard to mourn others if you're already dead,// a voice in the back of Noin's head chuckled weakly.  
  
//Bad humor. Bad, bad, bad. You're going from soggy to morbid. Better go follow Sally's prescription before you /really/ start losing it.// She chose to change the subject instead, reaching a hand to wipe the tears away. "How's Quatre?"  
  
Noin knew it was a fair about-face, but there wasn't need for Sally to make a funny face like that—or smother a laugh. "I spoke to his doctor—he'll be fine. They cleaned him up and sewed him up, and all that he needs is time to recover his strength and finish knitting back together. Trowa's hanging about to catch him when he wakes. Some other fellows showed up—led by a big man called Rashid—but Trowa vouched for them. Seems Rashid was like a second father to Quatre or something—in any case, with so many nursemaids available, you should take the chance to rest. Tomorrow's when we'll have to start picking up the pieces… We'll all need our strength then."  
  
Pieces… Bits and pieces… But Noin didn't dare think about them right now. "Tomorrow" was pretty much already here. Christmas Day… No presents to exchange, or open, but at least there would be peace on Earth and in space. It could be worse…  
  
//It feels like it can't get worse, though… I miss him.//  
  
Nodding, Noin took a prescribed hug from Sally, but her mind was on the season.  
  
Christmas. A day of forgiveness. Of kindness, redemption. Hell, even the Grinch got it. A day of miracles… //God, grant me one, please… I don't know which to ask for—a saved soul or a saved life—but grant one of them. /You/ aren't fooled by appearances; You knew each and every intention in this war… I knew his. I knew they weren't evil, or out of revenge, as everyone thinks. So grant me my miracle… Please.//  
  
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Relena sighed, sitting on an uncomfortable plastic chair and gazing down at her hands in her lap. It was over. She felt strangely numb by it all, though. And tired. Emotionally well-wrung, too, if a bit angry still that so much death occurred, yet overall—relieved for it to have finally ended. Surely it could have been prevented?  
  
//Surely it could have been prevented? Somehow? Avoided? At least in part? Reduced to a smaller level of pain and sorrow to the universe, to humanity?//  
  
A harder thought came—one that made her stiffen emotionally, uncertainly. //He was one of them, too… Who died today? The killer, with bloodied hands? The ambassador who hugged me? I didn't know him, either one of him… I'm not sure I want to now, after this.//  
  
She had just walked by Noin's room, and now that she was in her own, she didn't know what else to do. She doubted she'd be able to sleep tonight—there'd likely be nightmares. And she could hear Noin crying softly through the wall. That broke her heart—Noin's obvious pain. It wasn't like her to break down, after all—Noin never had in Sanc. At least, that Relena knew of. Maybe Noin had nightmares, too… Maybe she still did. And now, maybe Relena would, too.  
  
//She's strong, but she's undergone a lot… We all have. I suppose I'd feel the same if Heero died. Would I? I don't know… I don't /want/ to know, if it hurts so much!//  
  
"Relena…"  
  
//Speak of the devil…// She turned, standing slowly and smiling faintly—but the smile felt strained and tired, too, for all that she was glad to see him. It wasn't because of him and how frustratingly—enclosed—he was, but from the day's events. The emotional rollercoaster had finally come to a halt, and now she was still trying to regain her mental feet. "Heero…" //I'm glad you're alive, at least…//  
  
He stood in the doorway, expressionless as always. His eyes seemed tired, though, and his bangs had drooped as if at least they'd given up out of exhaustion from today's efforts, even if the rest of him hadn't. She hadn't seen him since the last of Libra was blasted away by Zero. Whatever he'd been up to the last few hours, nobody had told her… if they even knew. Well, they'd all deserved some quiet time after the battle, so she couldn't blame him.  
  
"I couldn't save him…" Heero's words startled her.  
  
At first she felt confused—mentally exhausted, she was naturally slow on the uptake. //Who? Quatre? No… My brother.// "I… I understand." That was all she could offer. She hadn't known him—and so she didn't know how to react to his death. The condolences felt… foreign.  
  
Those dark blue eyes didn't blink, but held her own eyes, refusing to let go. Did that mean there was more? Yes.  
  
"I didn't blow up Libra… He did. For me. I had nothing to blow it up with. So he used what was left of Epyon… and himself."  
  
/That/ was news. //A bit late to change your mind, brother,// Relena sighed mentally, surprised, feeling a pang of sadness as she looked back over at the window, curtained to block out the stars. Maybe he hadn't been as bad as he'd seemed… "I wish it had been different… That the war never happened. Maybe then…"  
  
Heero just shook his head, and turned to go, as if saying it would have made no difference. Glancing over his shoulder at her, he answered, "It happened. We have to deal with it still."  
  
Relena's eyes jumped back to him at that cool reply, but she knew he was right. Time to pick up the pieces. Of men and machines and… //Oh hell… The diplomacy that's going to follow all this will be sheer hell. All the lofty words and speeches and denials of blame and blaming of others… I'd better start on some ideas with Pagan and Noin's help first thing in the morning!//  
  
But he was right. Too damn right. It was annoying, rankling, to think about it all right now, when she felt so tired.  
  
//When did I learn to swear?// The idle thought hit her. Then, //Irrelevancy—it always sneaks up out of nowhere, then returns whence it began.//  
  
"Where are you off to?" she asked curiously, mind back on Heero, hoping he'd not vanish without saying goodbye at least. She felt defeated, drained. //If this is how it feels to win, I'm not sure I ever want to win again.//  
  
He shook his head again, bangs flopping into his eyes, eyes that were hard with determination. Enough determination to make one wonder what he was up to now that the war was over. "I need to find Duo. There's stuff to be done still."  
  
With that, he was gone on catlike feet.  
  
Relena shook her head, too tired and worried about other things to try and guess what the confusing pilot was up to now. Reaching a hand to the shades, she brushed one aside, to glance out at a patch of black and the twinkling specks almost lost in it…  
  
//"A prince of the stars…"// The words haunted her. She'd said them of Heero once. Or thought them, anyway. But she hadn't said them first. Someone else had, long ago. But she couldn't remember who…  
  
And for some reason, not remembering who said them bothered her. It hurt. Nor could she imagine why it should. But it did.  
  
//I hope it's not in the family to become irrational with age,// she mused grimly to the stars.  
  
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Wufei frowned—or, rather, he hadn't stopped frowning since he arrived at the resource satellite. Standing before his Gundam, he seemed to be blaming it for something. But anyone watching closely would have realized his eyes were focused beyond the tower of gundanium, on something only his mind could see.  
  
//He was winning, then he… suicided.//  
  
Somehow, that kept echoing in his head like an annoying song that just could not be forgotten. And it irritated every piece of skull it bounced off of. It wasn't right. It shouldn't be so.  
  
His world had been twisted and turned upside-down again.  
  
//Damn you, Treize. You could have picked a better hobby than playing with my mind!//  
  
//I don't understand. // Wetness touched his eyes, startling him. He couldn't imagine why he should cry for the man, who hadn't exactly been the most honorable of opponents. But then, who was? In the end… they all had been soldiers, simply fighting for different perspectives of life. All the same, brothers of sorts. And they fought like bitter kin, too.  
  
An image of star-filled space filled his mind, and he bowed his head, grinding his teeth in sad frustration.  
  
//I don't understand… I wish I did.//  
  
//He was winning…//  
  
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Hands folded behind his head, Duo leaned back in his seat with the grin of a Cheshire Cat, taking a break from the console before him. "The God of Death is now in business," he announced to the air smugly. "Can't get any better than this… Oh, wait—got to come up with a slogan for it, too. Well, no rush."  
  
"How about: We reap what you slew?" came a dry voice from the doorway. Deadpan tone. Not hard to guess who.  
  
//Heh. Not bad, but I need better.// "Nah… Though I could use help with the business. As in extra hands. Or a partner or two with money—that never hurts. Want in, Heero? You wouldn't have to hack funds from other people, then."  
  
A long pause followed, then steps crossed behind Duo, echoing Heero's approach to another console. Duo turned his head curiously to watch his fellow Gundam pilot sit down and start typing away.  
  
//Doing anything with him—even talking—is always an exercise in patience,// Deathscythe's pilot sighed mentally, waiting for the answer to his offer.  
  
It finally came. "Later. We've other things to do right now." Those dark blue eyes were riveted on information being spouted by the screen before him.  
  
Then it sank in on Duo. //We?// "Hey, wait a minute, what do you mean we? You should know the latest news—after all, you played the biggest role in it: the war's over. What's left to fight?"  
  
For a moment, panic began to set in. After all, Heero's hacking had given them startling and pretty much otherwise unknown insight on enemy activity. //Oh no, here we go again. What new faction's out there? Did White Fang regroup? Is Lady Une /still/ intent on arming colonies or something?//  
  
"We're not fighting something—we have to clean up a few things," came the bored answer, somewhat distracted. Was that a hint of frustration in Heero's voice, too? Most unlike him.  
  
//Cleaning up… Hell, we are NOT going to attempt salvaging the whole damn Libra, and I do not care what Lady Une or whoever is paying for it is offering /us/ for this.// Lowering his hands from behind his head, Duo leaned forward to peer at Heero's screen, still curious just what Heero was so intent on.  
  
For once, Heero didn't seem to notice—or mind—having someone peer over his shoulder. And what Duo saw made him frown.  
  
//Libra, and calculations on the explosive forces…? What the heck is he trying to find? The whole thing's a pile of parts and scrap metal now, if not entirely scrap…// He mused it over a bit. Then he knew.  
  
"You want to find the Epyon! But I thought you turned it and Zechs into toast…"  
  
Heero's eyes, reflected in the screen, averted to the table top briefly. Whether it was guilt or the difficulty of speaking the answer, Duo couldn't tell. "No. I only cut off an arm. But I had nothing left to destroy the core. So he did it. He still had the beam saber."  
  
Feeling stunned, Duo's eyebrows flew up to his hairline, and he whistled softly. "Didn't know that... Huh… But it'd still have been totally fried."  
  
He could see Heero's frown sitting in the middle of the image of the simulated Libra explosion. The words that followed were cold, but frightening in themselves. "The Zero system may have endured."  
  
//Oh damn. We can't let anyone salvage that or we're screwed! Hell, how Treize got it to start with is beyond me, but that was bad enough. We don't need another Epyon leading another White Fang and /succeeding/ destroying life on Earth this time.// That made him stiffen in his seat, and glare at the simulation determinedly. "Then we'd better get it."  
  
"Hn…" There was a long pause, as Heero studied the screen. Duo could almost swear Heero was trying not to squirm with… frustration? Impatience? What was driving him so? A mere lack of sleep wasn't explanation enough. At least, it never was before.  
  
Another thought touched Duo then, which would have come faster if not for the lack of sleep. Memory of his long chat with the Doctors in Libra. It brought a furrow to his brow, and made him shift his gaze from the screen to Heero's back uncertainly.  
  
//Heero's not that soft-hearted… Or… Well, could he still have enough humanity left to be doing what I think he's doing?//  
  
So he dared to ask. //Okay, Maxwell, if you survive this question, you've more guts than the little voices in the back of your head do.// "You want to know if he survived, don't you?" he stated quietly, more of a statement than a question.  
  
Heero actually turned his head to stare intently into Duo's eyes. There was a flicker in their usually-emotionless depths. "I need you to help find him."  
  
//Evading the question, yet answering it. Only you, Heero. But at least you didn't pull a gun on me for asking.// "You know why he did it?"  
  
Wing Zero's pilot's lips shifted down in a slight frown. "I think I do. Who told you? Dorothy?"  
  
With a chuckle, Duo shook his head, smiling lopsidedly at their memory. "No, I met up with the Doctors. They told me a good bit. I think their viewpoint was a bit less biased about it than she could be."  
  
That partial frown finished developing into a full-blown frown. "Did you tell anyone." It did not come across as a question—the tone was wrong.  
  
Duo snorted. //Does he think I'm stupid? Who'd believe me? "Oh, by the way, did you know Zechs and Treize were in on it together? They just wanted to blow up every mechanical monster available and so make sure war would stop out of the shear lack of weaponry." Yeah, that's something to tell the public. Before chaos reigns, or those insanely loyal factions lynch me.//  
  
"No, I didn't." Then he made a face. //Speaking of reasons… Neither of those two had to die—they /could/ have escaped. Where does that fit into all this?//  
  
Heero was studying Duo's face, and nodded slowly, frown fading… into a hint of a smile? "There was even more to it. But I'm not certain. We'll see. First we have to find it—and him."  
  
Duo's eyebrows flew up again. //Much more of this tonight, and they'll be growing wings,// he mused to himself. //And contrary to what women seem to think is cute, I do NOT want winged eyebrows like Treize.// "You think he survived that?" he asked incredulously. "I'm not sure I'd want to survive something like that, in his shoes. Living might be worse than being dead!"  
  
Heero shook his head and looked back at the screen, shifting his chair over and gesturing for Duo to bring his closer. "I'm not thinking one or the other. But if he is alive, he needs to be found soon, or it's a moot point. And regardless, we need to get the Zero system from the Epyon."  
  
//Huh… Well, can't argue with that. But then, who's insane—or suicidal—enough to argue with Heero? No, wait, there was that girl, Relena. Retract that. There is someone, but they're still not me.// Duo shifted his chair closer and reached for the keyboard. "Well, in that case, time for this God of Death to do what he does best—claim a soul."  
  
//Yeah, if it's still there when we get there. /I/ still don't think it's likely.//  
  
//If we can even find it.//  
  
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To be continued…  
  
Hope you enjoyed it so far. If you did, be patient. One day at a time. In this case, that's all I can cover in each posting for this part of the action!  
  
We're told Zechs and Treize fought in order to pretty much wipe out both sides. My theory is that they both intended to die, too, to leave no winner, no rallying point for further conflict, and political confusion. Plus, if you think about it, if Zechs didn't feel worthy of leading Sanc, why would he feel worthy of essentially winning control of the universe? He'd have to control it, then. Nobody else would except the winner as nobody else would have the military might—you can't just resign from such a position either, unless you know some damn-well hidden hermitage to hide in to avoid people pestering you (be they enemies or supporters). Add to that the two suicidal duels (suicidal because you don't charge recklessly like that when fencing!)—the last charges between Wufei and Treize and Heero and Zechs were obviously intended to kill the ones who initiated them: the two older pilots. They had to have been part of the ultimate plans of both men. As for the fall of Libra… well, if he took a destructive fight into the thing as well as helped blow it up before it got too close, I think it's a fair guess that Zechs didn't intend to let it actually hit its target in the end. Only scare people. Earth was a bit arrogant about being too strong to blow up like a colony, after all. He proved them wrong.  
  
Summary of theory: the war was to not only destroy as much military material (machines and men) as possible and so reduce the ability to make any future battles (at least for a while), but to destroy rallying-points (sides) for further conflict, and while they were at it, Zechs threw in a good scare for the Earth. 


	2. With The Power Of Conviction...

*********Learning To live Again…*********  
  
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Disclaimer: I own nil. Told you once; here it is again. Bansai and Sunrise are the bunch.  
  
WARNINGS—6x9, 1xR, 2xH, 13x11, possibly hints of 3x4, but the relationships other than 6x9 are pretty much just insinuations. You won't see /anyone/ kiss. So there definitely won't be anything stronger than kisses. Oh, also there'll be fair amounts of sarcasm, and perhaps sappiness, and a fair amount of drama. /And/ the occasional realistic gory details, as I /am/ in a branch of medical grad school!  
  
Flames will be ignored. In fact, lots of comments will be. But they might be read first.  
  
Synopsis: It's after the destruction of Libra, answering questions left in the dark between the TV series and Endless Waltz, focusing on what happened to Zechs, but with a fair bit on the rest, too. Viewpoints thus change throughout the tale, but it's 3rd person. Yeah, it's been done. But I don't care. The other versions still left me with lots of questions, so here's my version. If /you/ have questions of your own that you want answered by this, you never know—I /might/ be willing. ;) I don't mind /good/ questions… A few details of the show might have been forgotten by me—can't help it, as my mind is no steel trap. You can contact me about it if you like, but don't expect much, at least not immediately.  
  
This chapter title's words are from a song ("Invincible") by Pat Benetar. Chapter one was "In The End" by Linkin Park. Seemed fitting. Other songs might get used as titles later on—I haven't decided yet.  
  
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---Chapter 2---  
  
---With The Power Of Conviction…---  
  
  
  
---Christmas Day, AC 196---  
  
By the way, remember that short prayer in the middle of the inferno?  
  
It wasn't answered.  
  
It just thought it was.  
  
Something crackled, fizzling and hissing like a frustrated cat holding a temper tantrum. It… tickled, like whiskers, but unpleasantly, painfully so, more like strong static shock… It was the first sensation he knew. It wasn't supposed to be there. Nothing was supposed to be there.  
  
It hurt like hell. It burned, it cut, it had buried itself deep into bone and danced over his nerves like expert fingers on a piano keyboard, singing a song of agony. He wanted to scream, cry, writhe, and beg at the same time, but even he wasn't that good at multi-tasking. And if anyone was, they weren't alive anymore to brag about it, or else couldn't be heard.  
  
So in the darkness, the silence of space, a man simply screamed a wordless, soundless howl of despair, failure, dismay, and pain.  
  
Or tried to. He had no voice left, so not even an embarrassing squeak could be formed. The very attempt to take a deep breath for such a scream hurt too much to succeed at even that little. And his bloodied lips could just form the outline of the word "No!"  
  
//Nooooo! You can't hate me this much! What kind of a God are you? You're supposed to be merciful! I should be dead!//  
  
Weary eyes cracked open, eyelids weighed down more by despair than weakness, and unhappy icy eyes dampened as they focused on twisted metal and shattered glass, lit by the sparking of ragged wires. They brought to mind the image of a Christmas tree, the twisted and torn metal as deceptively soft as spiky pine branches, "ornaments" of shattered glass scattered all over, with cascades of threatening sparks ironically sparkling like winking lights… With that analogy came a trickle of memories of faint, distant past Christmases, happier times. Nostalgia.  
  
//Illusions, delusions. If you're going to die, Zechs, you could die on better thoughts than foolish comparisons,// he growled at himself. //Focus…//  
  
//Why?//  
  
He blinked slowly at that realization. Why indeed. Going slowly insane wouldn't do any more than damage his dignity. As if that mattered out here… Who would see? Who would care? He was alone.  
  
//I'm to die alone…//  
  
//Except for you, Epyon. But we monsters should stick together, hm?// A sarcastic thought.  
  
The sparks slowly fizzled out, blinking out of existence, leaving a thick blackness in which he may as well have been blind. Without them or the screens or interior lights remaining, eyesight was pointless. And with the loss of the sparks, so too did the tingling, tickling, painful static feeling ease. A bit more feeling returned to his limbs… So too returned a bit more solid-feeling agony. He hadn't known a human being could ache so much.  
  
//I didn't know /I/ could ache so much…//  
  
//Please… Make it stop, Epyon. I'm tired…// The words felt childish, yet in a way, he felt like he was six again. Already tired of the blood, even back then…  
  
The air had a metallic tang to it. Zechs wasn't sure if it was Epyon's half-melted state, or his own blood floating about in zero-G that created it. It didn't matter much to him, to tell the truth, except that his throat felt so dry, and that metallic taste wasn't helping any. It took effort to lick bloody, dry lips, but the effort was futile—it changed nothing. The awful taste remained, as did his steadily increasing thirst.  
  
//Note to self—for your next incarnation, be sure to have water available at the time of your next death.//  
  
//And while you're at it, some aspirin. Or better yet, ether so you could just put yourself to sleep.//  
  
A laugh struggled to escape him—a sad, tired, dead laugh—but all he could manage was a rough, bloody cough that confirmed the metallic taste's origin and dampened his mouth. That soothed his thirst slightly, for now. A minor respite. It would return, he knew. Nothing existed to stop it, not here…  
  
//Noin would have been amused if I said that to her right now… Aspirin and a glass of water next time. I am a fool… A soon-to-be-dead fool, but all fools die young, do they not?//  
  
His eyes closed, not that it made any difference in the smothering blackness. Was it the visual darkness that was beginning to weigh him down, or the shadow hesitantly creeping over his consciousness? For some reason, he felt so heavy right now, the worst of the weight in his chest, choking his heart…  
  
//I'm sorry, Noin…//  
  
//I was cursed from the start… Before you knew me… We weren't meant to be…//  
  
//You deserve better… You'll find better… I couldn't tell you—I tried to show you that…//  
  
//It wasn't meant to be… I wasn't meant to be happy.//  
  
//I didn't mean to…// The thought trailed, breaking, unfinished. Those that followed didn't even fight for coherent ends.  
  
//I'm sorry…//  
  
//I wish…//  
  
After all, it was a futile battle.  
  
And he was tired of fighting.  
  
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Heero glared at the opening hangar doors impatiently, as if blaming them for all the wreckage that floated just outside their protection. Floating debris cluttered space, sparkling here or there as sunlight teased them, pretending they were pretty. Some of it provided its own light—sparks. Bits of defeated mobile suits: Virgos, Leos, hints of Tauruses, perhaps the Tallgeese II scattered in bits among them. Remains of the Peacemillion. Wandering chunks of Barge, maybe. The blasted remains of Libra. Maybe the Epyon.  
  
That last one did worry him. Not just the pilot of it. He couldn't be certain Zechs, even if he lived, was done fighting. He couldn't take the chance. He wasn't about to analyze whether he actually cared enough about the man (or Relena) to be doing this, or if he just wanted questions answered—time was too short. He /definitely/ couldn't let someone else get to the remains before him, though.  
  
//There's too much that can be done with the Epyon's remains. Or even Zechs's. The false rumor of his survival could rally White Fang, after all… They could make a martyr of him.//  
  
Dark blue eyes narrowed almost angrily, and he punched for Zero to blast out as soon as the doors had opened enough to scrape by. Time was precious.  
  
//My feelings tell me I have to find him fast, if I'm to bother at all. I don't know why. But they haven't failed me yet.//  
  
"Sheesh, Heero, at least save the remaining paint on your machine," a familiar voice commented on the com, as a shadow of another machine chased after Zero.  
  
Duo. He, too, had decided his Gundam was best for this mission. One never knew what trouble they might encounter. Like a regrouped White Fang after the same goal. Or anyone who wanted a rallying point for a new war. Or the means for mass destruction, the secrets of a machine of madness…  
  
"We're running out of time," Heero commented sharply, that intuition goading him like a whip. //Hurry, hurry, hurry, or don't bother at all!// it told him.  
  
"We're probably the only ones looking for anything out here, Heero," reassured Deathscythe's pilot. "'Cept maybe Lady Une."  
  
Gritting his teeth to resist the urge to fidget, Heero swept Wing Zero in an elegant arc for the heart of the metallic nebula of debris that remained of Libra. "I follow my feelings, Duo… And they're telling me we have little time. We don't dare fail."  
  
//We don't…// he mused, an image of aqua eyes sorrowfully gazing at folded hands coming to mind. The eyes of a pacifist. The eyes of a fighter. Oh, the kinship was there, though she didn't know it. The battles were simply of a different sort.  
  
//Zechs probably knew that… The weapons were simply different. He was an expert at his. She is an expert at hers.//  
  
//I am an expert at mine. //  
  
//Duo had damn better be an expert at /his/! Hunting needles from haystacks is NOT mine!//  
  
It was then that Heero realized that the usually-chatty Duo hadn't replied, yet was still with him. Now /that/ was a first.  
  
//Spoke too soon. Damn it, Yuy, you /know/ better—//  
  
//I'm really starting to hate Christmas.//  
  
"It feels almost eerie out here," Duo'd begun saying, his voice quietly reverent. "Like walking through a graveyard… But then, it is one… Rest in peace, guys. You've earned it, bought it for us."  
  
Heero didn't answer. Now that Duo had mentioned it, he could feel it, too. The sad silence of space. As if something was looking at humanity's worst battlefield with tears in its eyes for the lost ones, the lost dreams, the echoing pain that remained among the living… the price of peace. Peace rested here, indeed, but it was the eternal kind, and begged to finally be left alone to its eternal rest. Rest in peace, indeed. It gave him the faint sense of trespassing.  
  
Wing Zero's pilot shoved down the urge to say "I'm sorry," and pulled his Gundam to an abrupt halt right in the center of the firestorm that had brought about Libra's end.  
  
//"I'm sorry…"//  
  
A frown touched Heero's face as he recalled those words suddenly. Words he'd heard right here. An apology.  
  
An unfinished apology.  
  
It was supposed to be, "I'm sorry… but it had to be done."  
  
Heero's frown faded, and he sighed softly. //I'm sorry, too. We all had roles to play. We all had to finish them,// he offered in silent apology to that sad presence over space. //It's time to pick up the pieces… But with those pieces… perhaps we can re-assemble a few lives that deserve another chance?//  
  
"The core was here." An arm of Zero moved to indicate a position to its right. "The Epyon was here."  
  
Duo's image appeared on the screen, tongue in cheek as he punched calculations into his machine. "Okay… And?"  
  
///And?/ What else does he want from me? I want to know where it is! That's what I dragged him out here for, after all!// Heero frowned slowly at his fellow Gundam pilot. "You were a salvager before. You can calculate roughly where it is."  
  
And Duo laughed. To Heero's consternation, Deathscythe's pilot seemed to guess his agitation—and enjoy it. "Yeah, I can, but it'd be faster if I'd a clue how far it pushed you afterwards, too! It'd narrow our search- circle a bit, cut back on time... And /you're/ the one saying we're low on that."  
  
Resisting the urge to grind his teeth, Heero looked about the drifting debris briefly, hunting… There, that piece was familiar. "As far as that girder sticking out, 15 degrees Earthward…" A visual check by Zero confirmed the distance, and he sent it over the com-link to Duo.  
  
As Duo set about adding that to his calculations, Heero frowned thoughtfully into space in a literal sense as well as figuratively, gazing at the debris-laden view as thoughts turned inward… to topics Duo would have been amazed to hear.  
  
//Hell, if this keeps up, I'm going to have to re-train myself out of more bad habits. Grinding teeth… Damn, what else will I start doing, at this rate? What will I pick up next? Chewing my fingernails? Eating my hair? Well, at least that one I needn't worry much about—my hair's too short…//  
  
//I /think/ it's too short. Maybe I should check. Or get it trimmed?//  
  
//You know, it /is/ getting a bit long. Better get it cut soon. Hazardous to your vision. I don't want to end up seeing through it like a blind sheepdog… Or looking like Trowa.// Zero's pilot grunted slightly to himself. //Now that's a thought. I wonder how he gets it all to stick together like that. If it works on hair, maybe it's good for gluing other things…//  
  
"Hey, Heero, what do you want our chances of finding it to be?" a voice popped up from a grinning Cheshire-smile in front of him.  
  
//Like gluing a certain pilot's mouths shut? He's /way/ too cheerful for staying up this late…// Heero put that tempting thought on hold. //You need him able to talk right now. And he's not /all/ bad, though you want to strangle him at times for always asking questions and being so damn obvious in a crowd. Be nice.//  
  
//Nice. Okay. Mood accepted.// "Reasonably good. 75 percent at least," he answered stiffly.  
  
Well, while Heero thought that was nice, Duo obviously didn't care much for the tone. The braided pilot sighed. "Hey, man, look, I know you're tired and so am I, but I wanted to know what number you had in mind—after all, going for 100 percent'd take probably too long for your liking… and our fuel. Seventy-five I can do… It'd take a good couple hours to cover that radius, though, even with these babies set on finding gundanium… Sending the data over…"  
  
A side-monitor on Heero's left beeped softly and unscrolled lines of text and a couple nice diagrams, courtesy of Deathscythe. Inwardly, Heero made a face at the coverage area they'd have to go over. Outwardly, he gave in to his feelings and let a resigned expression slide over his features.  
  
//I hope the odds favor us… I wish they were better.//  
  
For once in his life, Heero crossed his fingers.  
  
The action surprised even Heero, but he didn't show it—just looked at his own hand accusingly for taking that unfamiliar position. //Well, as habits go, could be worse. And you never know…//  
  
A slight smile touched his lips.  
  
"Hey, Heero, you okay?" Duo's image seemed to be regarding him with something between worry and confusion.  
  
"Sure," Heero replied, fighting the urge to grin wildly—which would certainly have scared Duo into thinking the Zero system finally got to him.  
  
//Be /nice/,// he reminded himself. //That salvage-plan of Duo's isn't a bad prospect for later. And he can draw all the attention away from you. And admit it—he's become a friend, even if you're not about to admit it to anyone but your inner voices…//  
  
//Now get going! Hurry, hurry, hurry! You're wasting precious time. Sheesh, brooding… /You/ of all people!//  
  
"You take spaceside, I'll start Earthside and go clockwise. Let's go."  
  
As the two Gundams moved off to start searching, Heero cut off the visual to Duo, smile broadening. A quiet laugh echoed in Zero's cockpit.  
  
//You never know…//  
  
//Maybe I'll be lucky?//  
  
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Trowa could stare through anything. It was a habit he'd picked up before he met Heero, and until then, he hadn't realized he'd picked it up. Sometimes he wondered where in the world—or colonies—he could have picked up such a bizarre habit. People seemed to be so disconcerted by it! It made people too uncomfortable for it to be very popular. But… he felt it fit him. So he left it alone, kept it.  
  
Right now, he was considering the far wall as if someone had hidden a Picasso in the paint and he was trying to determine if it was real or fake.  
  
Medical staff on this small resource satellite walked through his gaze, ignoring him. He'd been at it a while, and well, frankly you could only stay uncomfortable for so long before you learn to handle it (or destroy the problem's source, but the latter was out of the question for the medical staff).  
  
One'd think Trowa's mind had dived into a few deep thoughts and not surfaced for air yet…  
  
//It needs a new coat of paint…//  
  
Or… not.  
  
//It really needs a new coat of paint. You can see the drywall through that feeble coat. Who put it up on the walls in this place, Watercolor, Inc.? They definitely didn't get their money's worth…//  
  
//I suppose they haven't time to notice paint, though… Too much going on. The war…//  
  
//The war's over… There's the circus, later, perhaps. Or staying with Quatre until he's feeling better. He seems to need the company of people under the age of 35… Or maybe Noin has some ideas for cleaning things up that could use a hand.//  
  
//Will we go after the survivors? That's a thought. Vindictive, but possible. Not a bad tactical move, to suppress further uprisings of either Earth's forces or White Fang's. Though it might be hard to pick which side to pursue… Perhaps both, if we're to keep this peace.//  
  
//Or perhaps not.// Trowa shifted his position slightly to avoid cramping muscles. //Leaving things alone… might help the peace.//  
  
//Peace…//  
  
//Quatre's safe, at least. This facility's good but small. Only we know he's here… and the Maguanac Corps, of course. It was only fair for me to notify them—they did me a good turn earlier.//  
  
Footsteps… Slowly, Trowa turned his head to look, conserving his remaining energy.  
  
Rashid.  
  
The man looked worn out, but calm and solemn as ever, and took a seat in the empty plastic chair beside Trowa.  
  
The two understood each other pretty well. No words of greeting were needed, no comments on Quatre's condition. They would have said something if something needed to be said. It was a peaceful silence. Comradly.  
  
"Wing Zero and Deathscythe have left the hangar," the older man stated after a moment.  
  
//That's surprising, yet… it isn't. If anything's up, they would respond immediately. But I wonder what they're about.// "Do you know anything about it?" he asked softly, curious what would draw those two away so urgently.  
  
Rashid shook his head negatively, sighing quietly and folding his arms across his chest. "I don't know where they find the energy… Nothing is moving out there, except maybe ghosts."  
  
//Ghosts…// Trowa considered that, gaze returning to the wall in hopes of the blank surface allowing him to write his thoughts on it. //Or they're cleaning something up. I wonder, though… Is it living, or dead? They'll be back, though.//  
  
A slight frown touched his face. //I should be ready, if they do return. One never knows what might follow them back… Like mobile dolls!//  
  
Trowa smoothly glided to his feet, soundless, and turned to go. "They'll be back. I should be ready, just in case. I'll be at the hangar," he notified the older man.  
  
Rashid nodded, dark eyes catching the hint, hearing words unsaid. "The rest re-loaded your Gundam, by the way, as well as our remaining suits… If you need backup, signal Abdul."  
  
//Good man. One step ahead, and ready to guard Quatre if needed. Good man.// Trowa nodded, his green eyes thanking the man silently.  
  
The Arabian nodded again, in acknowledgement of Trowa's unspoken thanks, and turned his gaze back towards the door to Quatre's room. "Everyone else's heading for the colony in the morning. That doctor you introduced me to—Sally—and the other, Noin, I think… And that Dorlain girl, though she says she'll be back once she's seen to a few things."  
  
"Politics," Trowa agreed, nodding again, understanding full well what Relena might be able to do right now. //I'm not surprised Noin's going with her. As for Sally… who knows what she's up to, though I doubt she'll do any of us harm…//  
  
//I wonder what Wufei's up to?//  
  
//Maybe he's still in the hangar,// he decided, moving off to see.  
  
After all, against mobile dolls, backup couldn't hurt.  
  
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Pain. Pain. Pain… It was a vicious drumbeat shaking his subconscious, trying to wake him up, to drag him struggling back to full awareness in order to force him to fully appreciate the strength of its intensity. And so, Zechs's consciousness reluctantly surfaced from the lure of nothingness, kicking and screaming all the way. Well, screaming, anyway. Or rather, whimpering, for his voice couldn't supply any better sound at the moment.  
  
//Please… Make it stop, Epyon… /Please?///  
  
Kicking was not an option. Epyon had a death grip on him and simply refused to loosen it. Harness straps had survived better than the flesh and bone they were meant to protect, their fastenings currently beyond the skill of his weakened hands. Interior pieces of the cockpit that hadn't endured the blast's twisting as kindly as the exterior ones embraced or prodded Zechs mercilessly, leaving little space to squirm, let alone kick.  
  
//I do NOT appreciate this, you bucket of bolts… There's such a thing as being too intimate with your pilot.//  
  
Cracking gluey-feeling eyes open, he discovered that the showers of sparks had returned to add to the décor again—or, at least reveal what décor remained to his light-dependant eyes.  
  
Zechs was in no mood to appreciate the modern art style currently surrounding him and in places engulfing him. He hurt too much to care.  
  
Trying to assess it all was at least a way to distract his mind from the lingering death ahead. For he knew that was his future. What option remained? He hadn't died outright, he wouldn't be rescued, and Epyon's resources were dying—and perhaps his body's were, too.  
  
Pain comes in many "shapes" and "sizes", it can be said, and Zechs had the whole collector's set. Nerve-twinging nauseating, rhythmic sharp tingling, slashing-deep sharp bursts, hollow body-vibrating throbbing, and of course consistent dull ache. Not a single part of his body existed without some urgent injury claims on file for suit against Epyon. Not a single movement could he initiate without hearing those complaints double somewhere, if not everywhere… He learned that fast by trying to shift position slightly in the abused seat.  
  
//I knew I was destined for Hell, but did I HAVE to visit "Living Hell" first? God, either You had it in for me from the beginning… or You have one damn twisted sense of justice.//  
  
It took a few painful breaths before /those/ repercussions faded. But by then, Zechs began focusing on just how he was bound here, to this torment. It wasn't like him to just sit and endure abuse, after all. Escape demanded to be the goal—escape from that painful, stomach-churning tingling that was foremost in keeping him aware and awake.  
  
Identifying it wasn't hard… Low voltage is still voltage, and your nerves know it when they aren't the ones producing it! With it tingling sharply throughout his body, the only reason he wasn't jerking away from it was because he /couldn't/—Epyon wouldn't let him.  
  
//We'll see about that…//  
  
That resolution was more due to sheer stubbornness and boredom than logic. But then, it beat wondering what he would die of first.  
  
//A dying man has to keep himself occupied. I want to die sane, if only to spite what the history texts will say of me...//  
  
Tipping his head down to glance at his legs, he could feel something tugging at his long hair, something else scratching the back of his neck. Clotted blood may have turned once silvery lengths into restrictive rope—it was physically impossible for him to confirm such—or part of the cockpit could be back there, with razor-sharp edges just waiting for him to move against them. The chair behind his shoulders and back was twisted and how far the lumps jutted—whether just against skin or slicing deep into flesh and bone—he couldn't tell. Steel trapped his legs from the knee down, his contact with the metal equally difficult to pinpoint. As for his arms, he could see one lying at uncomfortable and new angles beside the throttle, pinioned at the wrist by a twist of metal that had once been part of the mechanical controls' panel. The other…  
  
…was lying free and limp in his lap, cut by bits of glass and metal shards, with a few particularly large chunks vibrating slightly, imbedded deeply in his upper arm and shoulder. Whether they were shaking because of his heartbeat or the cold starting to get to him, he didn't bother to probe his senses. First things first.  
  
With set teeth and icy eyes narrowed, Zechs determinedly willed his free hand to move to his belt, where the harness-straps held him.  
  
Well, he could lift the hand a bit, at least. A few inches… then what strength he had was gone, leaving his hand mid-air in zero-G and sending tears of pain and effort escaping his eyes to orbit the cockpit.  
  
Escape was hopeless. He couldn't even reach the gun at his belt to put himself down.  
  
As if laughing at his efforts, Epyon rained sparks down on his head.  
  
//Ironic… The "Lightening Count" dies of electrocution… Well all right, it's not that strong a current, but I never liked static cling and this isn't better… Couldn't You just blast me once with something bigger, once and for all?//  
  
Dispiritedly, he carefully rested his head back again, closing his eyes and wishing he could rub the stickiness out of them. Reflexively, he sighed—though that forceful breath repaid him in the way of additional pain in his chest and fresh blood adding to the metallic tang in his mouth.  
  
//So be it…//  
  
//I surrender.//  
  
Helplessly, Zechs surrendered to the long, agonizing wait for relief, his fiery spirit resignedly fading down to glowing coals…  
  
Waiting patiently to be snuffed out completely.  
  
As if in sympathy, Epyon's sparks, too, fizzled out again, letting Zechs sink back into the thick darkness once more. A temporary respite, but a welcome one nonetheless, and one welcomed wholeheartedly.  
  
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To be continued…  
  
Notes: I don't believe this whole Zechs-and-Heero interhatred thing. In my opinion, it was war, not personal. You CAN throw your emotions into your fight without throwing them at your enemy—it boosts your adrenaline and reaction-time. Sports players do it all the time. They /look/ like they hate each others' guts, but then you talk to them… and you find they respect each other, and it's all just to get that adrenaline going.  
  
The medieval term was "berserker". The fighters who did that. They were feared for good reason.  
  
If it was personal, I'd imagine Heero would have made certain of Zechs' death at some point or other, and that Zechs would have made his duel with Heero a top priority (after all, he put freeing Sanc ahead of pretty much everything else in his life) and not bothered heading off to space (yeah, yeah, protect Sanc from above, but hell, finding Heero wouldn't have taken more than a few days and THAT he could spare!).  
  
Enough ranting from me on that topic. Yes, these might get reposted—I can't get the damn italics and bold to transfer from my computer to fanfic.net correctly… 


	3. The Swans, They Swim So Bonny-o...

*********Learning To live Again…*********  
  
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Disclaimer: I own nil. Told you once; here it is again. Bansai and Sunrise are the bunch.  
  
WARNINGS—6x9, 1xR, 2xH, 13x11, possibly hints of 3x4, but the relationships other than 6x9 are pretty much just insinuations. You won't see /anyone/ kiss. Oh, also there'll be fair amounts of sarcasm, and perhaps sappiness, and a fair amount of drama. /And/ the occasional realistic gory details, as I /am/ in a branch of medical grad school!  
  
Flames will be ignored. In fact, lots of comments will be. But they /might/ be read first.  
  
Synopsis: It's after the destruction of Libra, answering questions left in the dark between the TV series and Endless Waltz, focusing on what happened to Zechs, but with a fair bit on the rest, too. Viewpoints thus change throughout the tale, but it's 3rd person.  
  
This chapter title's words are from a song called "The Bonny Swans", an old medieval thing that is NOT happy (about a murder). Was listening to Loreena McKennitt. I wanted to feel melancholy. Only reason I told you is because you might, too.  
  
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---Chapter 3---  
  
"The Swans, They Swim So Bonny-o…"  
  
  
  
---Christmas Day, AC 196 (Later In The Morning)---  
  
Noin was surprised to find Trowa in the hangar, talking to Wufei. Not that finding the two talking was strange, or that finding Trowa actually holding an actual conversation with someone was that unusual, but she'd though he would be by the infirmary, waiting still for Quatre to wake up. Neither looked like they had slept much during the remainder of the night… if at all.  
  
//Ah, boys… They're all alike. Stubborn as brick walls. Whether they're fifteen or twenty…//  
  
//And just as easily blown to bits by mobile suits.//  
  
Mentally she kicked herself for that unhappy thought. //Enough being maudlin. Get your rear in gear, girl—you're a soldier. Keep down that train of thought and you won't be a soldier anymore—you'll be a puddle of mush!//  
  
Memories of her training teased a slight smile to the edge of her lips as she strode toward the boys. Memories of barking sergeants screaming at her class to get their butts in shape and stop being wimps. Only firm, well- trained willpower kept memories of a certain fellow student at bay.  
  
//Ten-hut! Your mission right now is to keep your spine intact and help Relena force some solid peace plan on these whining colonies and that snot- nosed earth faction! Can't let all the deaths be for nothing! /Remember that!///  
  
Wufei became silent before she came into range of their voices. Noin couldn't blame him—she wasn't the wildest about talking to him, either. He had yet to train himself out of his reflexive biases—which rankled her—and she just didn't fit his standards of femininity—which rankled him. So far, they had a sort of… neutral understanding, a truce by mutual silence and respect. Their peace plan wasn't likely to ever get off the ground, though—Noin was betting they'd go their separate ways first. Which was fine by her. Some people you just couldn't win…  
  
Trowa tended to be friendlier, if very reserved. But that attitude she understood well. Heck, hadn't her best friend—//Don't get maudlin Noin, don't start leaking now!//—been the reserved sort? Prying words out of Treize's favorite that did NOT pertain to business had been harder than pulling teeth. Sometimes she had wondered if Zechs would've preferred the latter, actually. But you learn to read people, as you spend more time with them. The body would betray what the mouth refused to. And sometimes, silence said more than anything else…  
  
Noin was adept at reading subtle signs. And the silences. Maybe not so good with Wufei as she was with Trowa, but the latter at least didn't frown down at her so much.  
  
"Hello, Trowa, Wufei," she offered kindly, with a hint of hope in her voice that was only a /littlee/ forced. "I'm surprised to see you both here. Come to see us off?"  
  
Trowa tilted his head to one side slightly, an eyebrow twitching, threatening to arch. "Us?"  
  
She wanted to laugh at Trowa's look, but smothered it into a true smile instead. Before Heavyarms' pilot could consider taking that as an answer to his silent question, she nodded slightly towards the observation deck. //You can stop looking at me like my brain is threatening a supernova. I'm not /that/ close to the edge.//  
  
Wufei was staring at her. That wasn't new—when did they ever stand in the same room without throwing a cool gaze at each other? "You're leaving?"  
  
//At least Wufei doesn't sound like he's going to throw a party at my departure. Though if he keeps up this emotionless tone, he'll start being mistaken for Heero.// "I'm going with Relena and Sally to the colony itself. I offered to fly the shuttle. Peace talks have to get underway as soon as possible, if we want all this sacrifice to be worth something."  
  
"You intend to continue as her bodyguard," Trowa stated solemnly, nodding slightly. At least he seemed to approve of that.  
  
Wufei just gritted his teeth, and looked over at the Gundams behind them. Noin took it he didn't agree with Trowa's opinion. But whether it was the opinion of her actions or just of her or Relena, it wasn't clear.  
  
//Probably the latter. I don't think he likes her much more than he does me. Well… they're smart enough to see it's a good idea. But don't all hug me at once, guys.// "Someone has to protect her…"  
  
That made a slight frown touch Trowa's face, as if that made him think of something perplexing. "We probably won't run into each other again, then." Though quiet, his hesitant reply sounded a bit sad.  
  
Wufei just grunted, as if to say that's a good thing, but refused to turn around and rejoin the conversation yet.  
  
The recesses of Noin's mind bounced into a little victory-dance. ///Touchdown!/ You managed to actually wring some hint of emotion out of Trowa! Who-hoo! Girl, you know your quiet-and-stubborn-as-gundanium men! Well, one of them…//  
  
"That's true. But I'll miss you boys." There Noin had to smother a slight chuckle, for it included Wufei. Much as she found him annoying at times, he wasn't /bad/. //He's just harder to get to admit he's wrong than a politician under a media trial. If he didn't always try to act so macho and biased, he'd be fine. Even /I/ can tell that he knows better by now… at least as far as women being weak is concerned.// "You know where to find me, though—if you need a hand or just want to say hello."  
  
Trowa nodded, and—to Noin's surprise and pleasure—smiled. "That's true. Perhaps… some of us will."  
  
"Just make sure that peace you make lasts," grumbled Wufei, without turning around.  
  
Tears threatened to dampen her eyes, and Noin looked away to get a chance to get a hold of them. //I hope they do… all of them.// "We'll do our best. You know we will, all of us."  
  
Trowa nodded again. Wufei finally turned, mouth set wryly, at the silence that descended, awkward and sad.  
  
Unspoken, one thought flowed through all three: //That's what they died for, out there…//  
  
Sighing softly, Noin broke the moment of reverent silence and stuck out her hand. "Well, I'd better be going. The sooner we start, the better our chances of getting good results."  
  
Trowa took it first. "Take care." His eyes seemed to be trying to convey the parts of the sentence he left out. //Of myself, Sally, and Relena, he means, likely.//  
  
Wufei startled them both by murmuring quietly, almost glumly, "At least you're not facing /him/ this time… So you can do it."  
  
Trowa instantly looked like he wanted to groan. His hand tightened on Noin's in sympathy.  
  
But her eyes closed in pain after just a glimpse of the Heavyarms' pilot's reaction. The pain was too sharp—the memory of facing Epyon with her Taurus too fresh and clear. //Oh Zechs…//  
  
Opening her eyes and looking up, she caught Trowa's gentle green gaze… and to her astonishment, Wufei's sad sympathy.  
  
//God, I never thought of Wufei as one who could wear "puppy-dog-eyes",// the irrational part of her brain exclaimed. The rest of her was too grateful and appreciative of their kindness to make a statement.  
  
"Yeah, well…" Letting go of Trowa's hand, she offered Wufei a shake. After a slight bit of hesitation, he smiled slightly and shook awkwardly. "It was an honor fighting beside you all—instead of against you. Hopefully I'll see you boys sometime… Hopefully at some /good/ event, too—you know, without explosions left and right or persistent gunfire?"  
  
That drew chuckles even from Wufei. Noin smiled sadly, memorizing them and their hesitant, sorrowful smiles. //You may not ever see them again, Noin… But your time with them was a true privilege and honor.//  
  
//Don't forget them.//  
  
//I won't. I don't forget such people.//  
  
//I'll never forget him, either. Maybe, someday, I'll forgive him, too… for not taking me with him.//  
  
"Well… That's it then. Take care of yourselves… and… goodbye."  
  
Resolved to the future, Lucrezia Noin turned away, wiping her tears, and didn't look back.  
  
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Duo grumbled and slashed to his left, frowning angrily at the data Deathscythe was scrawling on the screen to his right. Something to the left blew up nicely, finally, showering the stealthy Gundam with debris.  
  
//Yeah, nothing left to fight. Suuuurrreee, Heero. These mobile dolls are just figments of my imagination, right?// He snorted.  
  
"You know, this is going to make the job take a lot longer, Heero, not to mention eat up our fuel." It took effort not to yawn one of those jaw- cracking, threatening-to-lock-permanently-open yawns. Or to take the annoyance out of his voice.  
  
"I know.," came an equally irritated reply. "But we /did/ come here to clean up."  
  
//Do NOT hit the screen. Hitting Heero's image won't help any, 'cept hurt your hand. Just wait until it's all over and you can punch him in person. Much nicer. Hurts less.// That involved some self-restraint, but the additional knowledge that such an action would take effort and energy that he didn't care to expend right now /did/ help persuade Duo from slapping the console-screen silly. Or breaking his hand.  
  
"At least that was the last of them…," Duo conceded with a sigh, leaning back in the seat, feeling as worn out as a treadless tire.  
  
"Then resume searching." Heero wasn't about to sit back and relax yet, it seemed.  
  
//Doesn't he ever sleep? We won't find anything… alive, anyway. I don't understand this rushing about. Ah well, it's Heero—I don't understand much about him anyway. Guess being an enigma is part of the package.// Wearily, he punched a course into Deathscythe's computers, setting it back hunting gundanium along the previously decided-upon spiraling route. //When did I buy that package, anyway?//  
  
//Guess I bought it when I found Wing in the ocean. Go figure, Duo—you always find the weird ones. Must be some special talent…//  
  
Smirking a bit wryly, Duo looked out at space as his Gundam floated along, docilely following orders. //Old Man, You definitely like to keep Your buddy Death's life interesting…//  
  
Snuggling back in his seat as far as the harness allowed, Duo let out his yawn finally, settling back for the long wait. Dozing a bit couldn't hurt—they'd be alerted by the radar if more dolls appeared, and Deathscythe would be doing all the work without any need for him.  
  
//Hey, Old Man…//  
  
//Just don't let it get more interesting tonight, okay? I've had enough of "interesting" to get that much a respite, hm?//  
  
Dark blue—almost violet—eyes closed slowly, lids flickering shut…  
  
Something decided to make a beep just then.  
  
Something that wasn't a mobile doll.  
  
Duo's eyes jerked open wide, and he sat up abruptly, frantically looking at his consoles… //What is it? Low fuel? Something in the path? A shuttle?//  
  
"I think I found something," Heero stated, sounding slightly awed, his image frowning at the readings Wing Zero was offering him.  
  
//Oh, it was Wing… Damn, but things sound so loud when you're half asleep. Though I guess it means our search is over, right?// "What did you find?" he asked, hoping for success finally.  
  
"I'm going in close to see," Heero reported, hands flying on the controls. Wing swooped close to a chunk of Libra, hovering…  
  
Duo crossed his fingers. //C'mon, let it be what we're looking for. I want to get some sleep finally!//  
  
But Heero was shaking his head, mouth set grimly, cool blue eyes becoming harder than usual. "It's Epyon's arm…"  
  
//Oh damn... I /knew/ it'd be in tiny pieces. I bet it's scattered in small chunks all around us and /that's/ why we're not getting anything!// "With the rest of the Epyon still attached?" Duo tried weakly, struggling to hang onto hope that this search would be over soon.  
  
"No."  
  
Duo barely refrained from banging his head against the main screen. //Pounding your head into the nearest wall won't do much good,// he reminded himself firmly. //It kills brain cells, remember? You need every little grey glob you've got, Maxwell.//  
  
"Resuming search," Heero reported tonelessly. He sounded like an automaton. Heck, weren't they both practically mechanical right now? The lack of sleep must be getting to Heero as well.  
  
Shaking his head slightly, Duo wriggled into a more comfortable position on his seat, biting back a grumble about confining straps not letting a man sleep on the job comfortably.  
  
//Well, back to dozing… At least it's something productive to do during this hopeless search…//  
  
Deathscythe's pilot's eyes flickered shut determinedly this time.  
  
//Old Man, if You decide I should wake again before I'm rested, please let it be important…//  
  
It felt like two minutes.  
  
This time, it was /Duo's/ console that beeped a success.  
  
Yawning, the braided pilot opened gluey eyes and tugged at the controls, stopping Deathscythe from hunting further. //Whatcha find, buddy?//  
  
"Hey, Heero, I think I got something… Don't know if it's what we want, though—let me see…" he reported absently, tucking tongue between teeth on one side of his mouth.  
  
Peering over the data coming up, he ordered a magnification and more definitive scan. Data spluttered about something wide-spread but thin. Frowning, Duo sent Deathscythe in for a close visual.  
  
//Don't let it be smeared over half the universe, don't let it be smeared over half the universe, don't let it be…//  
  
//Damn. It /is/ smeared over half the universe.// Biting back a groan of dismay and frustration, Duo stared at the smears of once-molten gundanium, now solidly coating debris of Libra. //Hey Old Man, that was one heck of a blast! Glad /I/ wasn't in the middle of it…//  
  
"Ah, Heero…? I don't know how much of it I found, but I think I found some of it…" Yeah, he knew he was blathering a bit, but Duo felt too tired to care. "If this has the Zero system in it, the Zero system became a true null… It's coating bits of Libra over here like spraypaint—and just as thinly as a cheap job of it, too!"  
  
Heero's image actually grimaced, and looked aside at his own data glumly. Duo almost felt sorry for the guy, for this was as close to a torn expression that he'd ever seen the other pilot wear. //Sorry, man, but things don't look too good…//  
  
Sighing softly, Duo sent Deathscythe up and along the path of gundanium smears, tracing it towards the end… "Hey man, I'm sorry… But at least it looks like it was quick…"  
  
To Duo's surprise, he heard Heero mutter distastefully under his breath, "Road kill…"  
  
Duo's eyebrows flew up and he made a face of disgust. //Ick… Not how I'd have put it, but pretty close a description. Damn… What a way to go—literally smeared flatter than paper. Note to self—don't try it.//  
  
Glancing at the stars beyond the debris-field, Duo prayed sincerely, //Hey, Old Man? If You've gotta take me out of the game… do it with taste, okay? And fast, too, but I /really/ want it to be with taste. Not like this. Getting vaporized and splattered across several miles of metal debris just doesn't have any class.//  
  
Shifting his gaze back to the data screen, he almost missed a big blurp.  
  
"Whoa! Hey, what was that?" Hauling on the controls, Duo swung Deathscythe back around for a second look.  
  
It was big. Bigger than a smear, at least. Gundanium, definitely. And almost solidly gundanium!  
  
"What is it?" Heero actually sounded bored… and resigned to failure.  
  
//He's given up,// Duo realized, heart aching in sympathy. //But hey, don't give up yet! Look what I found!//  
  
"It's big! I think—I think I found it! Hey, come on over here and look! Well, not that there's much to see with the paint gone and the outside half melted, but it still has the /shape/ of a mobile suit…" he babbled enthusiastically, trying to bring hope back to those suspiciously-bright blue eyes.  
  
//Don't give up on me, man! I know /I/ gave up on me a bit back there, but not when I've a good chance of telling you "Hey, told you I'm good!"//  
  
Getting in close to the solid, half-molten mass, Duo brought up a close-up visual and sent scans probing it thoroughly, nodding thoughtfully to himself.  
  
There were bits of stubs remaining where arms and legs and wings used to be, except for the arm Heero had cut off. It looked as if the blast had melted every appendage down to that length, rather like intense heat attacking a wax figure of a mobile suit. Not even a ghost of paint remained—the visible surface wasn't just scoured clean, but beaded with runnels of liquid metal frozen in time. The head and back, too, were now composed of frozen flowing metal, but not just gundanium—steel and titanium had joined the flow and crackled with weak flares of electricity.  
  
Electricity…  
  
Parts of it were still possibly using the energy supply.  
  
//The Zero system might still be intact.//  
  
///The pilot might still be alive!///  
  
Wing Zero glided to a halt just beside Deathscythe Hell, also contemplating the mess of a mobile suit, which resembled a much-abused wax figure in almost every way possible.  
  
Their pilots just stared at the sight before them in a silent sort of horrified awe for a few minutes, unable to get past the thought of what enduring that could have been like, what kinds of hellish forces had been involved to do that to the strongest material known to Man, or what might have happened if it had been one of them in there instead… or if the last pilot of Epyon might have even a hope of being alive in that sealed tomb.  
  
//Good God.//  
  
Duo couldn't think of anything to say. His mind was still repeating those two words.  
  
//Good God…//  
  
Heero, apparently, couldn't be awestruck for long, even by God. Suited up, Wing's hatch opened to expel its pilot. With armfuls of cable, he swept to secure the melted suit.  
  
//Yeah, well, okay, don't just sit here, Maxwell. Get your butt in gear and help the man! That's why we're here… Work now, gawk later.//  
  
Grabbing his helmet, Duo snapped it onto his spacesuit and triggered the hatch, reaching for the heavy coil of thick line behind the pilot's seat.  
  
//Time to claim a soul, Shinigami.//  
  
//Can't let the Soul of Outer Space do all the work now, can you?//  
  
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Wufei sat with arms folded across his chest on the foot of his Gundam, waiting patiently, eyes closed and mind wandering the paths of meditation…  
  
//This had better be damn good, Yuy…//  
  
Well, maybe not completely. Or on much of a way towards peace.  
  
Trowa had settled back on the foot of his Heavyarms, dozing. /He/ looked peaceful. Well, sedate, anyway. Or would calm be a better term? Wufei felt a pang of envy, for he himself couldn't sleep yet. His mind was too full of turmoil, and his heart ached with confusion.  
  
//Lucky. Treize wasn't playing mind games with /your/ sanity or sense of honor, Trowa.//  
  
But a touch of guilt reprimanded that attitude. //I know you're concerned over Quatre's health, though. How you can sleep right now… Well, I suppose after years of working as a mercenary, you learn to catch it when you can.//  
  
//I'm not as strong as you there. I was only a scholar until this mess started. Sure, we catch sleep when we can, probably like you… but we don't get emotionally and psychologically pummeled beforehand.//  
  
The com unit on the floor by his feet beeped.  
  
Wufei scooped it up and switched to listen in a single smooth motion, glancing over at Trowa to find that his fellow pilot was already on his feet and looking Wufei's way expectantly.  
  
"Hey you guys, Death here."  
  
"I got it," Wufei snapped sharply, before Quatre's man from the Maguanac Corps could reply from the observation deck. "What's your status, Maxwell?"  
  
"Hey, Wu-man, we got what we were looking for, but we're running on fumes now. Better get a docking bay ready for us and this mess. Oh, and probably some gundanium-cutters and some kind of medical team while you're at it…"  
  
//What the hell?// "What's going on, Maxwell?" Wufei demanded.  
  
"Let me talk to him, Duo." Heero's voice was weary, but carried a hint of triumph. "Wufei, just get what Duo asked for, however you can—and keep it quiet. This is important—especially keeping it quiet. There may be… unpleasant things involved that nobody but us should know about."  
  
Wufei's eyebrows practically hit his hairline. //What in Nataku's name is going on here? You'd better know what you're doing, Yuy.// "Fine. Time of arrival?"  
  
"Two hours."  
  
"Are you going to tell us what's going on here?" Wufei couldn't hold back that question any longer—it snuck out past his lips before he could stop it. He doubted he'd get a straightforward reply.  
  
//Or any. This is Yuy we're talking about.//  
  
But one actually did come. "We might be saving a life. Or we might be killing one."  
  
//Treize? Could they have…?//  
  
"Not Treize," Duo interjected. Apparently Deathscythe's pilot could do a little mind reading when deprived of sleep.  
  
//Zechs?// Wufei's eyes hardened, narrowing sharply, dangerously. //Are they /INSANE?///  
  
"We'll explain later. No time now," Heero stated firmly, quickly, before Wufei could take in a deep breath and start yelling over the com. "Over and out."  
  
Stunned, shocked, and struggling to contain his rage and confusion, Wufei lowered the com unit slowly, turning to Trowa, who had come up beside him unnoticed and apparently heard everything.  
  
Trowa frowned slightly… then shrugged a little. "They know something we don't," he observed quietly.  
  
//Obviously,// Wufei reluctantly agreed…  
  
//But what? And why must it stay secret?//  
  
Trowa was watching him carefully, that green-eyed gaze almost concerned, but Wufei just made a grimace, shoving his emotions aside. //They're not stupid… They know what they're doing, even if they leave us in the dark…//  
  
//They're smart enough to tell me sometime soon.//  
  
//Well, I /hope/ they're smart enough to do that.//  
  
"We had better do as they asked. Quatre's doctor and medical team are discreet. And the Maguanac Corps can help with the rest while keeping it from outsiders," Trowa decided quietly.  
  
"Fine," grumped Wufei, still against what they were about to do. // I still don't like it. I will help with these arrangements. But I will not include myself in them. I will not be a part of this beyond what Maxwell asked for.//  
  
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Confusion shoved its way past the persistent pain slowly, going against the current to tickle Zechs' wavering consciousness for attention. Something wasn't right, something was different, something had changed…  
  
Movement.  
  
His eyelids felt so hot and heavy that he had to struggle to lift them. The action was more reflexive than anything else, for no more sparks lightened the cockpit enough for him to see. A shiver coursed through his thin frame, a movement he was helpless to stop and that was occurring more and more frequently of late.  
  
//It's so cold here… Yet I feel so hot…//  
  
His icy-blue eyes slid shut again, dampness escaping the edges to bead in the air.  
  
//Movement… That should be important to me…//  
  
//Why don't I care anymore, Epyon?// His thoughts felt so… fuzzy. Half disconnected, half worn out, half confused and directionless, half listless and uncaring.  
  
//Wait… That's too many halves…//  
  
A weak chuckle made him cough blood again. He could feel a droplet splatter onto the hand in his lap. How his hand had returned there after he tried moving it, he couldn't remember. He couldn't remember how long he'd been awake so far. Or conscious. Or how many times he had drifted in and out of the black of oblivion he so craved to stay in…  
  
Or why he was here anymore. Or how he got here.  
  
Zechs simply didn't feel enough energy to find the memories, the reasoning, the plans and dreams he'd once had. He couldn't grasp thoughts that complex right now—they were too slippery.  
  
//Movement…//  
  
//My back hurts…// That felt more important. But somehow he knew that the previous thought should be of greater significance. He couldn't imagine why.  
  
//Forgive me Father, for I have sinned…//  
  
That one struck out of the blue, a drifting thought hitting his consciousness randomly, and sent a chord of acceptance through body, heart, and soul. It was over. All that remained in his emotions were acceptance and relief, letting Fate and Time do as they will to him. All that mattered was that it was over, everything was over.  
  
//Forgive me Father, for I have sinned…//  
  
Had he spoken those words once? The memory teased the edge of his conscious mind but stayed just out of reach.  
  
//I have sinned…//  
  
//Through my own fault…//  
  
//In my thoughts and in my words…//  
  
//In what I have done, and what I have failed to do…//  
  
//And I ask…//  
  
//I ask…//  
  
//All the… all the angels and saints… brothers and sisters… friends? Enemies?//  
  
//To pray for me…//  
  
Something recited, ages ago. It came too easy to mind to be anything else. It wasn't complete, though… but that was okay. They'd understand. Everyone would.  
  
//They'll all know the truth one day… Maybe I'll remember the truth, too… I'm too tired now to remember it… It's okay, though… It can wait.//  
  
//I'm tired… and it's so cold here…//  
  
//Cold…//  
  
//Brrrr…//  
  
The shudders were almost constant now.  
  
//Goodnight sweet prince,// the irrational part of his mind whispered gently, kindly, quoting something he couldn't recall, as his consciousness slid back into oblivion.  
  
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To be continued.  
  
The "Father forgive me, for I have sinned…" That's an actual prayer. I recalled it from mass. I don't recall all the exact words, though I know more than what Zechs remembered here. It seems fitting. It's something I bet he would have said after his first kill. But that's a side-tale I intend to write and not this one, and one at a time, guys.  
  
I might have more by next weekend. Depends on school. We'll see, hmm? 


End file.
